


How To Kiss A Man From Venus

by Eonnie



Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Angst, Blond Park Jimin (BTS), Breast Sucking, Choking and Gagging, Eventual Smut, Extra filthy sex, Extraterrestrial!Jimin, F/M, Face-Sitting, Gentle femdom, Goddess Worship, Jimin SciFi AU, Jimin being a good boy albeit one with a confusing fashion sense, Lots of cum play, Madam Kink, Reader-Insert, Sex Magic, Slight Foot Fetish, Slight Stretching, Squirting, Sub Park Jimin, Sub!jimin, Swearing, gaping, sexual healing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-07 13:43:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14672283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eonnie/pseuds/Eonnie
Summary: The guy dressed in gold foil is not a cosplayer, but a sexpert from space.





	How To Kiss A Man From Venus

**Author's Note:**

> Our beloved Jimin. Always nice to write. Enjoy! - Caro

There’s a fire in the woods.

Galvanized and reaching high. It jolts the room awake with a sting of light through the curtains. 

One time. Two times. 

It could still be lightning, but the walls glow orange rather than bright white.

It’s hard to tell until you storm out of the house looking about, phone ready to dial. The hills are silent. So are the pines, the oaks and sleeping birds. Impossible to fathom that all of this was illuminated seconds ago. Everything as usual. 

Mr. Jung, your high-strung neighbor, didn’t seem to notice anything. His windows remain dark unlike yours. 

Crossing the dim-lit street comes with a strong feeling of unease already. Impossible to know what’s really out there. Your left Achilles tendon sends a warning ache with every step.

There’s no commotion in the first clearing. Only the gravel path causes some noise save a lone mosquito passing by in a hurry. The forest is sober. So far. 

You enter the second glade knowing the light must have come from there.

 

 

All trees are intact, no signs of lightning scars on their bark. The air is fresh, not smokey, too. If someone was in danger, you would have heard it already. Even if the woods are spacious, an echo can and will find its way. You check the surroundings twice, then decide to turn around.

It must have been something else, maybe a light from the airport. It could be anything, really. Except for an emergency — so you’re not needed, nor is Busan’s fire brigade. They’re busy enough these days. 

You put your phone back into your right pocket.

Mr. Jung’s windows are still dark as you return to the bungalow. You left the laptop running when you stormed out, so now you plug it into the charger just like your phone. While brushing your teeth, you regularly check the window. 

Only a breeze of June between the oaks, nothing more. You still decide not to close the curtains for this night, sure to place your shoes ready at the entrance should the light return. It’s time for a last snack until your pajamas are tumble dried. The night is more comfortable than expected besides the throbbing in your left foot.

 

 

The birds are enthusiastic. 

So is the forest as you wake up, the breeze just a bit stronger to ruffle the leaves. Nature is alive and well. There are a lot of chirps coming from the backyard. A quarter loaf of bread is still left from yesterday, still somewhat crispy for breakfast with cereal and yogurt.

Some new translation request had popped up around 6 AM in your mailbox, something for mechanics, specifically gears. They’re paying well. This day starts out perfect.

So you settle at your home office to get right into it. Yes, it’s boring, all about trucks and caterpillars. But they gave you a generous deadline of five days if you accept the offer, which you do. As soon as the response is sent, you go to close the window to the garden. You need silence to work. They’re really loud today, the damn birds. What’s wrong? 

Before you can really assess the situation outside, you flinch backward. Something has rustled behind the hedge. Something big. 

Shit. 

Now it’s grazing past the elderberries and your cypresses. Probably not the fox that showed up last Monday, not at all. Whatever is going on out there seems very unlike animal activity in general. You shout into the garden now, making a dozen birds fly up.

“Hey! Who’s there?”

A little whimper comes from behind a cypress. The bushes are no longer moving. This has to be some kind of eerie shenanigan by Mr. Jung’s uncouth kids. Now you’re yelling.

“Fuck you, come out!”

“Ah?”

Not the Jung kids. 

That’s a grown man’s voice answering you. 

A stalker at 8 AM. Probably sitting in the bushes with binoculars in one hand and his dick in the other. 

The garden remains tranquil now. You know that your shouting might have chased him away successfully or just made the guy back off from his fapping place. But it leaves you with the next problem: Not having seen his face and whether it is familiar.

Who knows who you might have to report to the cops there. 

Again you grab your phone and switch on the camera. If he’s still there, you have the snapshot saved. There’s no chance that he gets arrested now because he’s quick, but you need to bluff for the photo. If it’s a stranger, you hope he’s narcissistic enough.

“Show yourself pervert, I’m calling the police!”

The cypress bends. 

_He is still there._

“Police?”

The voice is quite high-pitched. You don’t know anyone who sounds like that. But still, it’s not a kid’s type of tone. 

“What part of that do you fail to understand, moron?”

No objections to ‘pervert’ on the other hand. So you know who you’re dealing with. He won’t come out, so pretending to call the cops it is. You’re about to close the camera and open the dial.

“Please, I don’t know what police means,” the voice trembles from afar. “I’m lost here!”

Then, to your surprise, the cypress tilts sidewards and a petite boy steps out. 

Click! 

 

You captured him with a flash so sudden and bright that he stumbles backwards, tripping on your lawn and falling. You lose no time to snap a second picture, even third.

“Don’t, don’t!” the boy cries out covering his eyes. At a closer glance, you’re quite surprised at how he looks like.

No, his pants are not let down to his ankles. No binoculars either. Instead, the boy seems to be dressed in what looks like a funky carnival getup. 

Some kind of golden onesie, resembling some fantasy penguin suit from a Star Wars convention. He might still be caught up in some roleplay and thinks this is Hoseok’s garden. It makes sense, he said he’s lost. Hoseok has some very freaky friends, that’s not new.

“Hey, what are you doing here? Hobi lives across the fence!”

“I, I crashed yesterday at the forest. With my ship, I’m sorry...”

 

The woods. That could have been the light you saw. But a ship? It must be part of all this geeky graphic novel game. Live-action, or however it’s called.  _Either way._

You slip out of the window and walk towards the boy, pointing at Hoseok’s garden with fury on your mind. Stalker or not, he’s annoying.

“This isn’t a scene from the reenactment, I’m not part of it. Go there. Who are you anyways?”

“Is the flash gone?” he stares across the lawn to meet your nod — and rolling eyes. “I’m Jimin.” The boy dusts off his suit and stands up, causing you to freeze. “Planet Euphoria. This must be earth. I’m sorry I caused a ruckus.” 

He’s blinking at you with a polite bow, making his golden attire crease and shimmer briefly.

“What’s Planet Victoria, that’s not in Star Wars! What roleplay is this?”

“Euphoria. I forgot,” he scratches the back of his wispy blonde head, “you call it Venus here.”

How convincing and well-crafted all of this may be, whatever this Jimin guy is practicing in your garden, you really have to go back to your translation. Hoseok will get an angry text later for not properly instructing his guest concerning his address. 

And this intruder, he has to stop playing dumb and stealing valuable time. This is starting to turn into harassment of the pseudo-naive sort. Planet Historia, yeah right, whatever.

“Venus? Ugh, just, just go!” you advance and grab him by the shoulders, meaning to steer him towards Hoseok’s porch. “You need to piss off and stay away, that’s the bare minimu—”

Zap.

Your legs give out under a tremendous shock, running from your fingertips down your spine.

Everything is purple. 

It’s like flickering TVs with an empty channel all around you. Purple, purple, yellow, purple.

 

 

You regain a sense of your surroundings in three heartbeats, Jimin’s vague face hovering above you, below, right and left. 

He’s hysteric, small hands shaking your shoulders side to side.

“That was my suit, I apologize! The defense mechanism. I’m so sorry. Please, Madam! Are you okay?”

The world returns to technicolor again. Sharp, with the familiar tender chirps from your bushes. His voice sounds strangely warped. And your head hurts like hell. Whatever you did was the worst possible move to pull.

You realize: No Star Wars suit ever had dangerous inbuilt tech like that. If that was even legal and possible to craft in the first place, really. That was no taser bullshit. Far too trippy. Far too quick.

The dizziness in your mind brings forth the question you had rejected before.

“Are you really, I mean, an alien?”

Jimin nods right away. He reaches for his chest pocket.

“This is my ship. It’s shrinkable,” he pulls out a tiny blue saucer, “I lost a vital part and had to land. I tried to repair, I can’t go without the missing piece.”

“Wait, this little thing?”

“I shrank it this morning after I heard strange noises in the forest. So I got lost here. It wasn’t my intent madam, I’m really sorry.”

 

He lays down the saucer, pushes a button at the edge to make it grow slightly. Before it becomes larger than twice the span of his arms, Jimin pushes the button a second time and it stops. The ship is not a saucer anymore. 

There are rounded windows, a metal door, even a growing antenna or some sort of radar that was not there beforehand. It’s too big and solid to be a human-made prop. And this technology is definitely not known here. 

“Quick, shrink it again!”

“What?”

“We’ll go inside!”

“O-okay,” Jimin turns to swiftly minimize his saucer again. 

You hurry to shove him inside the window, shutting your laptop, then drag him to the living room. Jimin is completely disoriented at the sight of your bungalow interiors. He’s quite out of place in his glimmering suit vice versa. 

You sit him down on the Chesterfield couch, draw the curtains, and he places the ship on the glass table before him. Never did you feel this awkward since Hoseok’s friend Taehyung dressed as Vladimir Putin for Halloween and ate toast in your kitchen with a poker face. Never. 

Jimin does look like a true extraterrestrial indeed behind the sofa table where you prop up broad, one arm akimbo.

“So you’re really not from here?”

The skepticism remains in your voice, but there have been too many extraneous things so far. You have to admit this to yourself past all doubts, but the golden visitor is too distracting.

 

He shakes his head, pulling up his sleeve. There are a lot of angular, blinking symbols glowing from underneath his skin. It’s very unlike any tattoo you’ve ever seen.

“Hey, what on earth is this!”

“Well, on Venus,” he points toward the shifting upper line of characters. “This is what you call an ID here. It just states my name, my age, my status or profession if you will.”

“And why does it glow?”

“Because you can reprogramme it. My body can be infused with electricity. Like my clothes.”

“I noticed, um. And what does it say then?”

He points at the bottom row of the lettering.

“Park Jimin, 22. Though I’m a bit younger here, Venus takes fewer days around the sun.”

That makes sense. Jimin goes on in the second last row.

“Status: Eros Class.”

“Eros has to do with goddess Venus, right?”

“I know about your mythology, it seems logical. But not quite. Eros just means I specialize in specific types of studies and services.”

 

He claps his hands and it startles you, revealing what seems to be a hologram. Facts and moving figures unfold out of nowhere. At this point, you think everything is possible.

“What kind of service and studies?” you ask further scrutinizing the floating data. It seems to be like an inventory of knowledge.

“Of sexual nature. This is the database for respective use. I also applied it to contact the base for sending help concerning my ship.”

Sexual. It still makes sense. Goddess of love. But what he presents you with the hologram doesn’t seem even remotely erotic. They’re just very organized statistics and other blue symbols spinning around.

“Oh, okay. Help for what in particular?”

“A piece,” he points at the outer end of the saucer, “that’s made from Aluminum. A thin wrap for the space between the engine and the—”

“I have that in my kitchen!”

“Really? My database said it’s hard to access this material here!”

You go to rummage in the drawers next door. Plastic, plastic, bakery paper, more plastic... aluminum foil. “Not at all. Look!”

Jimin inspects the packaging closely when you pass it over. His brow furrows at the instructions already.

“What does barbecuing mean?”

“It’s for cooking with a grill, I do that sometimes. But you can use the foil for other purposes I guess. It conducts more than just heat.”

You help Jimin open the package at the outer end. His reaction tells you that the idea was good. He mumbles how he has to update the database. A few swipes with his hands scattering the hologram and a translucent head assembles.

 

“Aphrodite’s greetings. Taehyung, the problem is fixed,” Jimin speaks to the head. “Call back the emergency tools.” 

He holds up the foil for demonstration now.

“M-hm, I see. It’s good to hear, will cancel the progress. Good trip Jiminie,” the head drones with a deep voice. “And who’s this?”

“The nice lady helped me with supply and housing. Programme Philos is engaged.”

“Oh, then Cupid’s greetings. And good luck returning. Your module starts in one rendezvous,” the head begins to dissolve into a mess of data again. Jimin presses the air a couple of times until the hologram has returned to its former meticulous order.

“That was the aircraft commander, Kim Taehyung. He reminded me of the upcoming studies, I have one day left.”

“So that’s what he meant by rendezvouz, right?”

He nods.

“Rendezvouz, it’s how we measure time. And the Philos programme,” Jimin claps his hands to collapse the hologram entirely now, “is a necessary safety measure for you and us.” 

After unwrapping a bit of the aluminum and sizing it up, he proceeds to fix the ship. Whatever safety measure he is talking about, it doesn’t sound good at all. You follow the repairing with a wary frown. 

“When I’m leaving,” Jimin double-checks the saucer from all sides, “I will give you a flask with a special liquid. It erases the memory of my stay. I hope you understand why.”

“Oh...”

“It’s not a harmful substance. Like an altered form of rose water.  Our lab designed it according to terrestrial subject biology.”

“Terrestrial subject biology? Is that what humans are to you?”

“No, you, you misunderstood,” Jimin shakes his head. “Terrestrial biology applies to all species on this planet. I didn’t say it to look down on you.”

Jimin finishes the checks, stores back the saucer, and steps up to you. He takes your hands.

 

“All I did was causing inconveniences so far, I know that.”

“Well no shit, Sherlock.”

“So maybe I could make up for it. I saw you walking strange earlier.”

The Achilles heel. 

He noticed.

“Sports injury, fucking tendon. I play basketball. What about it?”

“I was educated as a medical assistant. If you want, I can try my luck.”

“You’re not a qualified practitioner, why would you be. I wanna see Doctor Jeon next Wednesday.”

Jimin zips open his suit in response. You back away sliding out of his hands. But he just points toward the center of his naked chest.

“Look here. I received a deep cut when training to become a chef for aphrodisiacs. I healed it with sheer energy work.”

Now you see it. A wound comes forth when he taps his fingers around it. Another tap and it readily closes, disappearing until no trace is left.

“My energy spell holds it together. I can do the same thing with your tendon to mend it, permanently.”

You can’t really believe your eyes, hypnotized by his torso now. When he zips it up again, you force yourself to snap out of it.

 

“But, what is this spell?”

“A special type of electromagnetism. Less strong than earlier, that was just the suit acting up. This current can’t really shock you like that. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have been able to hold my hands, it runs through me constantly. Healing just means to focus the spell.”

“We can try,” you grumble, “But if you mess around rascal, we’re in trouble with each other.”

“Hey Madam. You won’t regret this,” Jimin chimes, briefly pressing each knuckle of his to activate a glowing field around them. Doctor Strange meets spirit aura article from a quack magazine. You had to translate one from Russian in January, it was the most surreal and ridiculous request. But this tops everything you ever found in your mailbox. Worth a try for the story’s sake. Of course not because you’ve grown a bit horny at the sight of his naked chest, the cute face, and all the smart tricks. Not at all. 

Just an extraterrestrial coming to your garden after an accident, you can help each other out by coincidence — that’s it. That’s all that happens.

 

_Dream on, fool. Your panties are dripping wet._

 

Jimin makes sure his suit is in place when he bends down to kneel at your feet. You remove your shoe and sock feeling even weirder, but his courteous pose and suave expression remain unwavering. Soon he begins working around your ankle chanting something obscure. 

You pay close attention to his ritual, but there is no shock to be noticed. The pain does ease the minute his spells abide, leaving your foot just a bit numb at first. But upon Jimin circling and bending it between his palms, you feel nothing of the strain anymore. 

Maybe he  _is_  Doctor Strange. But if anything, he looks like the very opposite of Benedict Cumberbatch with his tall and severe appearance, the booming deep voice as well. Jimin is most likely the least intimidating man who’s ever showed up in this mischievous part of town.

 And that intrigues you. 

The translation can wait. Especially when he asks if you’d like him planting a little kiss on your foot. 

“A small favor for a lady if you desire so,” he blushes for a moment, “it was just an idea. The energy is already sealed, this merely leaves a pleasant feeling.” 

“Don’t mind. You can kiss me pretty much everywhere.”

And there it is. Your tongue being faster than your brain as usual. That’s why you work from home and write. You think twice that way. Unlike now. 

But to your surprise, he looks up stoic, lids heavy. 

“Well, I can serve you. It’s what I do best. You can be straightforward with me.”

“Oh, I like that offer. Go ahead, I’m curious.”

 

Your eyes dart down to your foot where Jimin bows down further from his position. His lips are so pliant against your ankle, you thought it was just a feather’s touch. A touch you want on your lips, too. Hot and soft, so obedient. You have to make it count now. He looks up with anticipation.

“I want your lips to serve mine,” you begin to tease, reaching down to intertwine your fingers at the crown of his head. His face and hair are so luminous up close. Jimin smells like hyacinth and rose, it clouds your thoughts already.

“Anything for a lady. It’s the first saying we learn where I come from.”

You intertwine two digits further in this locks.

“The Venus people get it.”

Jimin smiles at that. You indicate him to come upwards by the back of his head, then rest him between the countless couch pillows on his back. He’s really small. You are still amazed where all of the spell energy came from if he didn’t use the hologram. 

His lips are already like magnets for you to crash down on, lap seated firmly on top of his. The instant heat curling inside your core fuels heavier kisses and daring chews on his bottom lip. It’s what could drive you mad completely if you lingered for just a little more. 

The taste of pomegranate and melon that permeates his saliva melts into your mouth with unsurprising ease. You’re so hungry. For more of his spit, and a beastly fucking to satisfy all cravings that accumulated for months on end.

He answers adeptly with tongue, lips swollen. Dipping, circulating, gliding. You ask Jimin if you can sit on his face and rub his cock. He says it’s common leisure where he comes from, helps you slip down your jeans mumbling how he has to disable the hologram so Taehyung won’t interfere. You sink down with a huff of relief from your eventful day. He’s warm and mild against you. Responsive to the grinds. The pace is soothing first.

Jimin mumbles a spell between your labia, making his tongue warmer against you. He winds and swirls it clockwise to gather more of his saliva, mixing it with your own lubricant. Meanwhile, you unzip what appears to be the front part of his crotch sewn into the golden suit, grasping his little cock tight when it springs up.

It’s perfect in your left palm, glistening unlike anything you’ve ever seen. It’s going to be your pleasure waterfall. He’s moaning already.

Your clit picks up on the drawn-out hums soon enough, as well as some puzzling whirrs of stimulation running up your left arm. Who knew. You pump his shaft tighter causing golden bubbles to pop at the top. But instead of trickling down as droplets, they evaporate within seconds to make room for new random ones.

Upon touching the bubbles to burst them quick, your fingers feel more of the whirring at the tips. It seeks to permeate your body in its entirety like a wave of excitement, the type you get when going to the cinema and your favorite actors are on. 

“Can I have some of that?” you lift up from Jimin’s chin. “It feels so nice.”

“Venusian Honey,” he swallows in response. “Take as much as you want, whichever way you like. It comes out for a couple minutes.”

“Can I get pregnant?”

“Only on days when it seeps out blue. At the beginning of the month, but that was two weeks ago.”

“Then I want a deep filling.”

You slip from his face, lower your pelvis to take him in. He’s sturdy between your walls, quite perky, too. Thrusting is easy. He helps with his hands bracketing your waist. Up, dwelling, then downwards onto the gentle stretch inside.

With each movement, you sense how he fills you up with no end in sight. The honey spurts out quite fast, feels so good like nothing else. You hook both index fingers at the corners of your entrance so it can bubble out. The noise is cute, you end up infecting Jimin with gorgeous laughter. 

“Madam, is this how you like it?”

“Can you give me more?” you nod right along. “And my breasts feel lonely, too.”

“Of course, goddess,” he hooks his lips at your chest slowly, sucking their way up and down. He has done this a gazillion of times. You can tell by the nuance, the intricate patterns. Practiced it all to detail just for creating the right type of suction at the spot where you’re sensitive. When another gush of honey pops between your legs, the whirring completely expands to engulf the area all around.

It’s so slippery to keep him stuffed in when new honey comes out spluttering and fizzy, leaving a balmy feeling on your skin throughout. You would recommend him to your ob/gyn in no time if you could. 

He has one hand reach down to find your clit covered in sticky gold, easy to slip off on. But Jimin’s fingers are dexterous. The stimulation keeps on making your head spin like it became elevated, infused with something almost drug-like. All thrill comes to a final release in a dozen clenches around him, milking out the last bits of honey from his cock to saturate your womb with. The feeling takes over your mind and opens the shimmer of a gazebo where you stand gazing at mountains and swamps made of flowing gold. 

The trembles running through your thighs feel no more distant than the summer breeze that comes with this imagination. It’s like Jimin transferred you to a different land, though everything feels grounded. His hands at your waist stick with you start to end.

The aftermaths of your orgasm are comforting like the remnants of bubbles trickling out. You thrust down a last time to let his cock shove all remaining honey fully steep inside. It distributes fast making your abdomen feel bulged out, then everything oozes downwards. You let him slide out with a plop then.

Last bits of gold come out sparkling.

When you’re almost empty and the buzz in your veins comes to subside, it’s like Jimin has been massaging your body for three hours with no pause. He looks a bit drowsy. Probably because you’ve squeezed every possible drop out of him. But the radiant smile has never wavered. His thighs are ruined with your cum and fading gold. So beautiful, but gone too soon. The particles dissolve faster than your breath returns to a solid state, leaving only streaks of white. Jimin nuzzles into the nape of your neck ever so slightly now.

“Are you satisfied, goddess?” he pants.

“Amazing, I... Can you drink up the rest, Jiminie?”

“Yes.”

He bends to guzzle up what’s left between your thighs, gathering more by twirling his tongue around the gaping width it finds. Every swallow is servile, but he struggles to get it down smoothly when the honey pours out all at once. 

“It’s okay, take a breath. You gave me a whole lot, Jiminie.”

Jimin inhales through his nostrils, but ends up choking out a whole gush. It squirts from his nose but he tries to keep his jaw in place not to spill the rest. At your surprise, another huge portion breaks into his mouth all at once, threatening to tear his tiny throat straight apart.

Now his eyes are bigger and glossier than ever. So devoted. You can tell he wants to squeeze the load inside so bad to make you happy. Jimin’s so tight that he has to gag it down several times until you’re empty and call him good boy in your arms. When he gasps for air, used lips apart, you can hear the faint bubbles pop in his stomach. 

After coughing himself out he calms, and so do you. Though he continues to nourish you with sloppy kisses until the couch is completely drenched. But that’s nothing to be worried about now that he’s in the embrace you wanted him to be in all along. Fiddling with his hair you notice how rosy his face has become — with a small tint of gold around the eyes.

 

 

Jimin would like to spend the rest of the day with you watching TV. But there’s a high chance Hoseok shows up because he borrowed kitchen stuff yesterday, Taehyung sends Jimin a message to hurry up, and you got another translation request. You decide to part, but it weighs heavy on you to say it.

“The sun set Jimin, we can go to the forest.”

“And the scary noises?”

“Those are just barking dogs. Hoseok walks them every other morning.”

“Dogs.... I see, I learned something again. Now I have a story to tell.”

“So do I.”

Jimin sighs. He unfolds his jacket to reveal a bedlam collection of tiny hand-labeled bottles. 

 

“I’m afraid that can’t happen, remember?” he points at the miscellanea. “Cream for back pain, oil for smooth skin, juice for arousal, a serum for sweet dreams, and here—”

“Philos Programme?”

“Emulsion for amnesia. Yes.” 

“You won’t return any time soon, right?”

“I have to complete fifty rendezvous of studies. Maybe Taehyung lets me check back afterwards. But it’s generally forbidden to interact with other species unless they are in danger. Not to endanger either of us, you know.”

“Not that I would recognize you anyways,” you help Jimin mount the door’s tilted platform. He can’t just knock at your door to say hi. Yesterday’s circumstances were fortunate enough for you to come together.

“Cupid’s greetings, my lady. Use the flask when you don’t see the lights anymore. I will activate the substance from the ship.”

“Cupid’s greetings, will do. Maybe it’s good. I won’t miss you so much then. Already do.”

 

Two flashes of light and the ship ascends into a bleeping state above your head. 

You made sure there was nobody around. The lights blend with the stars, falter, then fade into blue.  

The liquid glows red and thin within its crystalline confines. You unscrew the flask. 

 

That’s not very much like rose water. It’s more of a mango type of trace on your tongue. The feeling that resurfaces between your legs is also quite telling.

Juice for arousal. 

Jimin is a sucker at labeling his bottles. 

 

Or is he?

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading lovelies.


End file.
